A Matter Of Perspective
by ScopesMonkey
Summary: John has a talk with Josephine about the nature of family.


**A/N:** I had a request for some John & Josephine bonding, so here it is. I do not own, nor do I profit from. Enjoy!

* * *

John heard the faint sounds of someone moving around in the upstairs bedroom, light footsteps and creaks from the old floor, but he didn't pay much attention, other than keeping an ear on it. Josephine was up there, and the movement meant she'd woken up from a much-needed nap.

They had spent the morning at the British Museum, just the two of them, which was a rare pleasure. Sherlock was working at Barts, heavily invested in some experiment John wasn't certain he wanted to know anything about. John enjoyed his niece's company a great deal – she was imaginative and energetic and curious, so that a trip to the museum meant a morning of questions and amazement. John had worried vaguely that she was too interested in the mummies in the Egyptian display, if only because it made him wonder exactly how much Sherlock was rubbing off on her. She had looked at the crystal skull and declared with absolute certainty that it looked nothing like a real one. Sherlock had teaching Josephine anatomy from a very real skull since she'd been a baby, so her pronouncement was very well informed. And correct. John didn't think it looked particularly realistic either. Vaguely skull-shaped, but that was really all. But she loved everything with her five-year-old's enthusiasm, not just looking the mummies or dismissing the skull.

John had taken her for lunch afterwards before returning to Baker Street, by which time, she'd been drowsing in the back seat of the cab, and he had to carry her upstairs into the flat, tucking her in without any protests. In this, at least, Sherlock hadn't rubbed off on her – or she was too tired to complain.

She had slept just under an hour and, in the way of small children, was all energy again. John missed that sensation and wondered why adults lost it. Perhaps they all had the same amount of energy, only it was stretched out over larger bodies, so that it was more compacted and tightly wound in children, looking for an outlet.

He made himself a cup of tea and cut up an apple for Josephine, spreading some peanut butter on the slices. John had taken to hiding the peanut butter, or else he'd often find the jar half empty or completely empty, despite Sherlock's assertions that it was foul and no one in their right mind would eat anything like that. He'd never actually caught Sherlock eating it, and had begun to wonder if his husband was a closet peanut butter addict, a thought that made him snicker. John now kept one jar tucked away and one in a more common place – although Sherlock wasn't above finding the hidden jar when it suited him.

John usually let it go – but there were times when he retaliated by hiding the tea sugar. He'd become very good at finding inventive hiding spots that would slow down even the world's only consulting detective. John pretended it was to keep Sherlock on his game mentally, but privately just enjoyed watching Sherlock hunt for it, growling at John, trying to manipulate him into giving hints. John never did.

A creak on the stairs brought him into the livingroom with his tea and the plate of apple slices. Josephine was coming down the stairs, bright-eyed again, her long blond hair coming loose in its braid, so that wispy strands floated around her head. She looked more like Tricia with each passing year, but there were hints of Henry in there as well, if one knew him. The curve of her nose reminded John of her father and the shape of her smile, although its suddenness and brightness was Tricia's.

She was holding something in her hands, which John couldn't momentarily make out, something rectangular that looked wooden. He set his tea down on the coffee table, and the plate.

"What have you got there?" he asked.

She turned it round and he saw it was a framed picture. His own parents smiled back at him from a time when they'd been much younger, and his father had still been alive. John remembered when that photo had been taken – shortly after he'd joined the army, and he'd been on leave for the weekend. They'd gone for a picnic in a nearby park in the warm spring weather, and he'd taken the photo at their request.

Somehow, Harry had ended up with it, or a least a copy of it, and John had collected it from her belongings after her death five years ago.

He blinked, realizing it had actually been that long. He'd stored the photos and albums he'd brought home from among her possessions in the upstairs closet, always intending to do something about it, but never quite getting around to it because there was always something more important to do. John wondered if he should feel guilty about that, about relegating the little he had left of his sister to the back of his mind and the back of a closet, but he couldn't bring himself to. He'd glanced through one of the albums before he'd brought it home, and it was mostly pictures of people he didn't know, or older ones of Clara and Harry.

Their lives had been so separate for so long that John had felt vaguely as though he'd been invading a stranger's privacy by looking through her photos.

But he would want the pictures of their family. He hadn't bothered contacting Clara to see if she wanted anything at all – she hadn't come to the funeral, so she wasn't likely to be sentimental about Harry's things. John hadn't spoken to her since inviting her to the funeral. It seemed like a lifetime ago.

He glanced at Josephine. For her, it almost was.

"This man looks like you," his niece asserted confidently. This wasn't much of a surprise, although it still caught him slightly off guard. Sherlock had started developing Josephine's observational skills at a very young age, and John knew that Tricia both encouraged this and participated in it. As a former soldier, she was adept at observing her own surroundings. As a doctor, she was used to reading people for clues as to their symptoms and ailments. John often thought this was why both of them – him to a greater extent, of course – could keep up with Sherlock somewhat. Although John knew that both he and Tricia combined on their absolute best of days would never match Sherlock on a normal day.

John took the picture from Josephine, sipping his tea, and she picked up an apple slice, munching on it contentedly.

"He does," he agreed, looking at his father. They had the same face shape, the same eyes, the same colouring, but he always thought his smile was more his mother's, quicker, more heartfelt. His father had not been a smiling man. Not cruel or unhappy, but as though he were reluctant to show pleasure in case it called attention to him somehow. John wondered now if his mother had always smiled more to make up for her husband's lack of it.

"Why?" Josephine asked, perched on the edge of a couch cushion.

"Well, he's my dad," John replied. "And that's my mum."

He pushed himself to his feet and cleared some space on the mantle for the small frame, dusting it off quickly on his shirt first, then dislodging some of Sherlock's junk to make room for it.

When he turned back, Josephine was giving him a puzzled look.

"He doesn't _look_ like Grandpa," she said, small brow furrowed. "Or like the pictures Mummy showed me of Grandma."

John sat down beside her again.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"How come they don't look the same?" she asked, her blue eyes puzzled.

_Ah_, John thought, suddenly catching up. He'd never considered this before, and wondered if Tricia or Henry hadn't either. Sherlock certainly wouldn't have – he wasn't big on thinking about family. Or in dealing with practical matters, really. He was more than happy to teach his niece to read people and to identify human remains, but wouldn't consider the world the way she saw it, unless she hit him round the head with it.

Well, John was guilty of that too, right now.

"Your mum and I don't have the same parents," he explained.

Josephine looked even more puzzled, and a little startled.

"I thought you were my uncle?" she asked. "You aren't related to Daddy, and Uncle Lock isn't related to Mummy or Daddy, but I thought you and Mummy were brother and sister. You were in the army together and you're both doctors and you're always together and you love each other but not the way you love Uncle Lock or Mummy loves Daddy."

John was _really_ going to have to have a talk with Sherlock, he decided. Josephine was five. She shouldn't have put all of that together yet. Maybe in seven years. Sherlock was turning her into an eerily perceptive child, and John did want to avoid Josephine having the same problems that a young Sherlock had had – antagonizing and discomfiting those around her.

Although, he had to admit, Josephine was a lot warmer than Sherlock had likely been as a child, and didn't evaluate people in the same way. Whereas John could perfectly imagine a child Sherlock doing it to upset people, Josephine just did it because she was bright and she'd learned how. John would have to put some effort into teaching her when it was appropriate, though, because Sherlock thought it was appropriate all of the time, even when it clearly wasn't. If he couldn't make the distinction himself, he wasn't about to instil it into a five-year-old girl's mind.

Still, it needed dealing with, although not right now.

He was somewhat surprised that she hadn't caught onto the difference in their last names – Tricia had kept hers when she married Henry, so that distinction couldn't be dismissed by a simple name change. Although this also heartened John; Sherlock hadn't completely corrupted her yet.

_Give it another year, two at the outside_, John thought wryly.

"No, your mum and I aren't sister and brother," John said, shaking his head gently. "But we're very old and good friends."

Josephine stared at him, looking upset but the statement, and she shook her head sharply.

"What's the matter?" John asked, shifting closer to her on the couch.

"If you aren't Mummy's brother, then you're not really my uncle, right?"

* * *

John sat at Tricia's kitchen table, holding a seven-month-old Josephine on his lap. She was standing on her small legs, unsteady, and he had his strong hands wrapped securely about her waist to keep her up and to keep her from throwing herself to one side and falling. She was distracting herself with a plushy toy, but John wasn't paying as much attention to her, other than ensuring she was safe in his grasp.

"Are you serious?" he asked Tricia, meeting her amused blue eyes with his stunned brown ones.

"Of course," Tricia said easily. "I wouldn't ask you if I weren't."

"But– have you asked Henry about this?" he pressed.

At this, Tricia rolled her eyes.

"Johnny," she said in a tone that told him she thought he was being thick. "Of course I have. We discussed it together. It's not a decision I can make on my own, you know. But he agrees with me. It's the best option, really. And hopefully it will never be necessary."

"Right but– why us?"

"Why not you? I trust you with my life, and my daughter's, and I know you'd do a great job, if it were ever necessary. And Sherlock adores her, and she him. You're a good balance – you could maintain rules with her, and he'd keep her challenged in other ways."

"Which is a nice way of saying he's a total pushover for her," John commented.

"Yes," Tricia said simply. "Bit like Henry in that respect."

"Okay, but Sherlock? I mean, you have met him, right?"

Again, Tricia rolled her eyes.

"I'm fairly confident in my ability to distinguish him from the many other Sherlocks I know," she replied dryly.

"But Henry does have family," John pointed out. Tricia's father was still alive, but was not a good choice, living in assisted housing as he did.

Tricia nodded, her expression mild.

"Mm-hmm," she agreed. "But Jo is closer to you and Sherlock. If anything were ever to happen to both me and Henry – god forbid – can you imagine how she'd feel losing not just her parents, but her favourite uncles and being moved out of London? She'd be losing everything she knows if that happened. At least you and Sherlock would be giving her some stability if we both died."

John didn't like the sound of Tricia talking casually about the possibility of her death, even though he understood the necessity. One couldn't have a child without considering these contingencies.

"I'm not sure that stability is the right word to apply to Sherlock," he said.

"Well, his special kind of stability. We both know Jo is smitten with him, and that the feeling is mutual. I know your opinions on it, John, but I think he'd be a good father, if a bit inconsistent, but you make up for that."

John let out an abrupt sigh – this was odd to consider.

"If you don't want to do it, we'll ask Jen and her husband," Tricia said.

"No, no, of course not," John replied, shaking his head, as Josephine bounced on his leg, gabbling at him in her baby language. "Let me ask Sherlock about it, but I think it would be fine. I'd hate to lose her, too, if I lost you."

He paused, then shot Tricia a look.

"Unless you've already talked to him?"

She shot him a look of her own in return.

"Of course not, John. I'd always check with you first."

* * *

He was Josephine's godfather, although this didn't entail much, since he wasn't particularly religious. Tricia seemed only mildly invested in it, saying that if there were souls, she was more concerned with having functioning bodies to keep them in, and John had never worked out what Henry thought about the whole matter. He was her legal guardian, along with Sherlock, if anything should happen to both her parents.

But first and foremost, he thought, he was her uncle. Tricia was as a good as his sister, and they had both lost siblings. He a sister and she a brother, so they stood in well for each other. He loved her in a way he'd never loved Harry, because it included liking her. He knew this wasn't fair, but his relationship with Harry had never been fair, not really.

Josephine looked so heartbroken that John felt a tugging in his own heart. He scooped her up onto his lap, cuddling her against him, and she wrapped her small arms around him.

"Why can't I really be your uncle?" he asked.

"Uncles are brothers of mothers and fathers," Josephine said, her voice sounding small. "We learned it in school."

John nodded; he had thought this was what she'd been thinking. He hugged her and rocked her, wondering how to phrase his answer so that it would make sense to her.

"That's normally true," he agreed and she looked up at him, her blue eyes bright. "But sometimes, the way adults think about things is a little different. Sometimes, a very good friend can be as close to you as someone in your family. It's like having more family that aren't really related, but you still feel the same about them."

"Is that how you feel about Mummy?" Josephine asked.

John nodded again. He didn't want to go into details about Tricia's brother Jeremy, or about Harry, because Josephine was still too young to understand the discord that lay in those relationships before they ended.

"Yes," he replied. "I don't have any sisters or brothers, but your mum and I are very good friends and we've been friends for a very long time. So she's kind of like my sister. Do you understand that?"

Josephine nodded, but still seemed uncertain.

"I think so," she said.

"I love your mum very much and she loves me. We've been friends since before she knew your dad, or before I even knew Uncle Lock."

"How long?" Josephine asked.

"Almost fourteen years," John replied.

At this, Josephine's eyes widened.

"That's a long time," she said. John chuckled. It was a long time. Although he had friends he'd known longer, they weren't people he knew as well. He didn't need to tell his niece that her mother had saved his life or that living in England while she stayed in Afghanistan for three more years had been nerve wracking. That seeing her come back to London alive had made it easier to breathe. Josephine was too young to understand these things.

"Most people have aunts and uncles who aren't reated to their parents," he said. "That's what Uncle Lock and I are. We'll always be your uncles, no matter what. We both love you, very much. We always will. Nothing will change that, Jo, not even that your mum isn't my sister. All right?"

Josephine met his eyes again.

"You promise?"

John kissed her forehead, glad he'd agreed all those years ago to be her legal guardian, so that if the unthinkable happened to Tricia and Henry, he could hold himself that promise, giving her the family she was used to, the love and comfort and familiarity she needed to feel secure.

"I promise," he replied. "Always, Jo. I promise."


End file.
